


When Are You Gonna Sing for Me?

by WizardSandwich



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, but they are sort of mean, good news! the autobots love prowl!, please let me have my title i'm vibing with a song rn alright, prowl and op have like kind of idw vibes but??? not really idk, prowl gets therapy and starscream makes big assumptions about the autobots, they're Not Total Douchebags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: Starscream has a plan—a great one!—to anger Optimus Prime. He just has to seduce Prowl to do it.
Relationships: Prowl/Starscream, Starscream & Wheeljack
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	When Are You Gonna Sing for Me?

**Author's Note:**

> this is self-indulgent and probably not the best but whatever
> 
> follow me at @tasteful-robot-loving on tumblr to make requests and see shorter works that i haven't posted here!

Starscream has had a lot of ridiculous plans over the years. He’ll admit that. But really? Angering Optimus Prime is less of a plan and more of an entertainment. The look on Prowl’s face is an added bonus.

“Do you want to discuss _politics_ over a cube at Maccadam’s?” Starscream asks, resting his helm in his servo. He puts a bit too much emphasis on the word “politics.”

Across the meeting table, Prowl freezes. His doorwings hike up high in defense. His expression twists into something that wars between confusion, surprise, and disgust.

“I don’t think there’s anything that we can’t discuss here,” Prowl says, turning his gaze helplessly to his Prime.

Prime’s faceplate hides whatever expression mars his face and Starscream can’t help but be disappointed for a moment. But then Prime rumbles out, “Yes. There’s nothing that can’t be discussed here.”

Jazz—who is here more for security than anything—nods in agreement. “Prowl’s got a lot on his plate.” There’s a warning hidden there that Starscream can’t help but want to challenge.

“Fine,” Starscream tilts his helm to the side and offers a guileless smile, “perhaps you would like to discuss more personal matters?”

Windblade makes a choking sound by his side, “Starscream—”

Finally, there is a reaction. Optimus Prime’s optics narrow dangerously, bright blue dimming. He looks as if he’s attempting to stare through Starscream’s chest and straight into his spark. Starscream laughs.

“What? A mech can’t show an,” Starscream purposefully drags his optics over Prowl’s frame, runs his glossa over his lower lip in emphasis, “interest in Prowl, dear Prime?”

The mocking nickname slips out without preamble. The comment itself makes Prime’s optics dim even more. “That’s not the issue here,” he says.

“What? Can’t take the idea that your right servo might sidle up with the enemy?” Starscream says.

“Starscream—” Windblade hisses at him. Chromia stops her with a well-placed servo to her shoulder.

“Prowl’s a big mech. He can make his own choices,” Jazz tells him.

Starscream scoffs, “It doesn’t seem like he’s making too many decisions for himself right now.”

Ever the master of manipulation, Starscream’s words have the desired effect. The attention in the room goes back to Prowl, who looks as if he’s chosen neutrality as the proper response. A pity, because Starscream was somewhat hoping disgust would win out. The reactions would have likely been more interesting.

Prowl’s doorwings flare when he notices all the optics on him. Unfortunately, there are enough subtle differences in Seeker frames and doorwinger frames that he can’t quite read the motion.

“Well, Prowl?” Prime addresses him.

“Well, what?” Prowl asks.

“Would you like to have a more personal discussion with Starscream?” the Prime says it impersonally, politely, like he doesn’t have an opinion on how Prowl should answer.

Prowl shakes his helm—the expected answer—then says, “You know I have appointments.” Then to Starscream, “They weren’t lying when they said I was busy.”

Starscream offers his politician smile. “I see.”

Prowl nods as if this is the end of this discussion and it is, for now. Starscream has no plans to give up on angering the Prime nor does he plan to let Prowl walk away unruffled. Truly, all the two of them have done is offer Starscream a challenge, a new game of manipulation, that Starscream intends to win, if only to remove one more supporter from Prime’s side.

“Dismissed,” Prowl says to the room, as if he were in charge.

Prime nods, “Of course, Prowl. I know you have an appointment to keep.”

Starscream wonders how long Prowl has been in charge of wrangling the Autobots up like this and files it away for later. It could be useful information in his plans to manipulate and seduce Prowl.

Starscream walks out of the meeting with his helm and his wings held high. He sort of feels like he’s won a victory for the way Prime seemed to loathe the thought of him going for his Second.

Wheeljack steps to his side. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

Starscream shrugs, “What’s a little fun between colleagues?”

“It’s never just that for you,” Wheeljack says, because he knows Starscream far too well for an Autobot. “What are you hoping to get out of this?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? But Starscream answers honestly, because he’s never lied to Wheeljack, “Just having a bit of fun at Prime’s expense. And Prowl’s.”

Wheeljack gives him a sharp look, optics expressive enough to make up for the mouth that Starscream can’t see.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

There’s not a “you’ll regret this” or a “manipulating Prowl will only get you hurt in the end” or anything of the sort, just an honest statement.

Funny, Starscream didn’t think that the Autobots had ever cared for Prowl in the end. A tactician without a war, a cold spark in the heart of the Autobots, he didn’t think that they’d find use in him or kinship.

After all, what is a possession except something to use and throw away when it’s no longer useful?


End file.
